Bittersweet
by gal
Summary: The post-mission nightmares catch the attention of another assassin who comes to give him comfort he perhaps shouldn't give... First person pov. Shounen-ai/yaoi. Oneshot. Pairing: It's a secweeet (yes it's one of those fics).


Author's notes: This is just a random thing that I thought up while driving to class tonight. Then when I got there I worked on it, and finished it afterwards. Yes it is one of those somewhat secret pairings where you must read it to know!  
  
And yes I think 90% of the fics I do solo and finish are one-shot first person POV. -Gal =================  
  
Bittersweet  
  
by Gal  
  
=================  
  
He's lonely again tonight.  
  
Lonely and crying...  
  
It seems to have become a bit of a ritual anytime he tries to sleep after a bloody mission. He assures everyone he's fine, gives that bright smile, and then trods off to bed. Only to toss and turn, plagued by nightmares and his own guilt. Guilt he hides so well in front of others, except just now in the cover of darkness and sleep.  
  
I can easily hear him... I always can. Can anyone else? I don't think so... As always, I try to ignore it, try to get back to sleep. But it's all I can hear. His soft cries and whimpers in his sleep become all I can hear and as always I rise from my bed to go to him. It seems almost like an eternity between the time I'm alone in my bed, only able to hear the brunette's suffering, and I'm standing before his door.  
  
For a moment I pause and stand still, not yet opening the door, wondering if I should do this. If I should go in... He's an adult, capable of murder, plausibly capable of dealing with the guilt which comes with the missions. But... he can't, not alone, as nights like this prove. In some ways he's a child. So... pure and wholesome it's sickening and cliché...  
  
But so refreshing in that he can still cry over the blood on his hands. Still -care- about the bastards his claws rip through. I've ceased caring. Which is why I'm a soulless bastard.  
  
Unworthy of him.  
  
Which is why I shouldn't open this door, shouldn't go to him, shouldn't touch him--  
  
But I hear him cry softly to himself, so much louder now that I'm right outside the door and I fall, opening the door, moving across the room. It's a moonless night, dark, so I am not able to enjoy the vision of the pale illumination from the sky falling through the window and lighting his form. Making him look as if some fallen angel from above. But I can imagine it clearly. I've seen him like this enough times to have it perfectly engrained into my mind...  
  
And yet, I never get tired of seeing it.  
  
He cries out again, some name... the name of his supposed friend who came to his fate months ago, or the name of the woman he lost, or the name of a target... I don't know... It's more than enough to make me stop looking at him and slip into bed with him, just holding him. Comforting him, letting him know he's not alone.  
  
I truly don't know why I do this sometimes...  
  
The younger man turns in my arms, wrapping his own tightly about me and holding to me as if I were his lifeline.  
  
Oh yes. Why I do this.  
  
It starts off slow, me just rubbing my hands down his arms, soothing away his nightmares by speaking in his ear. He's so precious to me, far more precious than he should be. Far more than anyone ever should be, I know this. I gave up thoughts of a normal life long ago, and though this is far from "normal", it's too... close. It's dangerous to feel how I do for him... and I refuse to put a name on what it is I do feel. I know he doesn't return it. This is just comfort... nothing more...  
  
His whimpers get quieter and finally die off, the man resting a few moments as his strong hands rub over my own torso. I can feel his long dark lashes flutter on my cheek as he starts to stir awake. He is an assassin. I would be worried if he could lay in bed with someone and never even realize he was far from alone.  
  
It's dark so he can't see me, but that's ok. I don't mind the dark. It's hard to even think of turning the light on, for this subject. For... us... for we only are like this in the dark of night. He never even asks, I just come. I never say anything about it afterwards when we see each other, and he never asks.  
  
Wanting to thank the one who came to him when he needed someone, his lips quickly find mine and part softly... He always tastes ever so sweet. No... he never mentions this after it's all finished, and the sun has risen. He never even asks me to come. The only reason I believe I continue coming is how quickly he accepts me into his bed, every time... even as he sleeps and I lay beside him, his arms embrace me... hold me...  
  
Welcome me...  
  
As many other parts of his body welcome me in so many ways...  
  
The intimacy continues with a deeper kiss as he wakes up a bit more but is still in that dreamlike wonderful state. I feel his hands creep up my chest, touching over the clothing covering me and pulling gently, almost timidly. Gracing over cloth covered nipples. As he always does.  
  
One would think it would be almost monotonous by now. I can almost guess to the second exactly how long we'll lay together before he wakes up. How long he'll kiss me. How long before his fingers start getting a bit more demanding and he starts pulling at clothing...  
  
...to leave me as bare as I now currently am. Ken, you meet my expectations exactly once more...  
  
I've never been with someone who was so... predictable.  
  
Yet it doesn't bother me. Or bore me.  
  
Paradox. Like him.  
  
Passions rise as they tend to do... skin is caressed as that smooth golden expanse covering muscle practically begs to be caressed... We're quiet. It's the middle of the night, he's still half asleep, we don't want to wake anyone else currently sleeping in the flower shoppe apartments. That would be a bit bothersome, especially if they came to investigate what was going on in room 301.  
  
If his lips are sweet as candy... the feel of him around me and pulling me deeper is the sweetest nectar of natural delicacy. Like honey... smooth, warm... And all mine. For the moment at least. For when I want it to be...  
  
He truly is a beautiful man... and not just when his body is around mine, gripping, pulling, tightening... though that is quite beautiful too. His work in Weiß has done wonders to his body... giving him the pure toned physique of a killer... add that to the strength of his legs from his soccer days, legs often wrapped about my waist or as they are now, slung over my shoulders, and he truly is a sight to behold. Full pouty lips practically begging for a kiss... hooded eyes, his lashes covering those chocolate irises, still bleary from sleep he hasn't yet fully left behind...  
  
Climax comes hard and fast, tears actually coming to my eyes as I feel him do this lazy hip roll just as I push in with the final slow strokes and the liquid heat splashes over my abdomen.  
  
But it's the single word that falls from his lips as the full pleasure of release moves through his sated and sleep dazed body that truly brings the tears to my eyes.  
  
"... Aya...!"  
  
Aya.  
  
Not yet thinking on that I finish and withdraw from him and move from the bed, watching as the man collapses back onto the mattress and curls up. The mission and the nightmares drained him... then the exhaustion after a full round of pleasuring sex fully claim the usually energetic man. Getting my clothes back on I move to the bathroom to get a damp towel, wetting it with warm water. Going back into the younger assassin's room I use it to clean him up to remove all traces of evidence of our doings... as I always do.  
  
Brushing away the tendrils of hair from his eyes I notice they're damp with sweat. The man will just have to shower in the morning... Dawn is approaching and I'm not risking being here when it comes. I take a few moments more to do as I always do after such a thing like this... work my charms to make the man believe any recounts he has of tonight were just a vivid erotic dream of his precious Aya...  
  
Nearly as far from the truth as possible...  
  
Always it's the same, why do I let it bother me? It has been since this begun... Since I began taking him in the middle of the night when he was in such pain. Pain I can feel and hear and yet those he lives with are oblivious to. Pain which called to me and brought me here no matter how I tried to resist... Pain his own damn teammates don't see, or don't want to see.  
  
Pain I could only soothe by giving him what he wanted... in a way... Convincing him I am the stoic bastard Weiß redhead he longs for so, and who doesn't give a damn either way about the younger blade wielder of his team.  
  
My telepathy... my curse at such a young age... taking away my life, my dreams, my sense of normality... Once more giving me hints of what it is I want... but never quite... Because reality always comes forth when it matters most...  
  
And I have brought it forth on myself...  
  
And I can't stop... And I can't tell him the full truth of those wonderfully pleasant dreams, which soothe him in the night.  
  
I know why his touches are almost always the same... To him, he's always acting up the same recurring dream, completely unaware it's real... and with a person not at all the one he thinks he's with in his mind.  
  
A single tear finally falls from my eye, running down my cheek and caressing over my lip. It tastes bitter. Not at all like his kiss. As far from that as possible.  
  
-Owari- 


End file.
